When the Pieces Don't Fit
by MercerSPN
Summary: Sam's taken by a man with a harsh, twisted game in mind. John and Dean are the players, and Sam's the prize. With only clues, hints, and slight leads to go on, John just hopes he can get to his son in time - which is quickly running out. Tick tock...
1. Chapter 1

_AN: _Okay, hello. This is sort a favor for my good friend 'Devil917', but it's also a pleasure and a challenge as well, so I'm looking forward to all of this. This story is actually based off her story 'Jigsaw'. Long story, short, she isn't going to be able to finish it so she'd like me to give it a shot. If you've read her story, then I hope you won't be disappointed. Of course I'm not going to rewrite her story word for word, but I'm keeping the concept and letting my imagination run wild.

This one's for you, girl. I hope I make you proud!

_Timeset: _Preseason. Sam's 16, Dean's 20.

_(Better) Summary: _Sam's taken by a man with a harsh, twisted game in mind. The only rule is to play by his rules. The world is the game board, John and Dean are the players, and Sam's the grand prize. With only clues, hints, and slight leads to go on, John just hopes he can get to Sam in time. The clock's moving. Tick tock...

_Warning: _This story will get dark. You've been warned.

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><p>Chapter One: Do You Wanna Play a Game?<p>

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><p>Blindfolded, gagged, shackled, and handcuffed.<p>

Nothing much else seemed to register in Sam's clouded mind than that. It felt like he was coming out of a coma or something similar for how disoriented he felt. He didn't remember...anything. What happened? He went to rub the side of his face when the handcuffs pulled taut and stopped his motion. He should have seen that one coming. Handcuffs. Mentally, Sam shook himself. He tried to think of what had happened. Why was he here? _How _did he get here?

Little by little Sam's senses were coming back to him. He wasn't even sure if he was completely awake. Something just wasn't making sense to him. He didn't feel scared, he didn't feel worried, he didn't fear for his life; even though deep down he knew he should. Somehow, all his emotion had drained away, leaving him in somewhat of a robotic state. But one thing he knew for sure? He knew he had to get out of here and he had to do it quick. There was no telling what's in store for him.

Since seeing was no longer an option for the time being, he used all his other senses as much as he could. What he was lying on felt like a mattress. A worn out, old, smelly, unused mattress. Sam could just _feel _the stench sticking to him. The springs in it pierced through the thin top layer and were pinching Sam's skin. It was annoying. The cuffs around his wrists were hooked in front of him tightly. He was beginning to feel that tingly, pin-like sensation throughout his hands and fingers. They were losing their circulation and if he didn't get them off soon, I'd be bad.

In the background was a swooshing sound. Like a washing machine, an air conditioning, running water, something Sam couldn't quite place his finger on. He didn't hear movement from anyone though, which lead him only to believe he was alone for the time being. With his left leg, he kicked backwards and almost immediately felt the brick wall kicking back. He felt lightheaded a second later and it made him sick to his stomach; and if it weren't for the cloth and duct tape tied tightly around his mouth to keep him quiet, he was sure he'd barf.

More and more, Sam's robotic-like feeling began to turn into actual emotions. The sound of his heart seemed to echo off the walls.

He was taken. Someone has kidnapped him. Someone had taken him, knocked him out, covered his eyes so he couldn't see, handcuffed him so he couldn't fight back, and gagged him so he couldn't yell. This person, who ever it is, was serious on keeping Sam all to their self.

But through all of this, what worried Sam the most is that he couldn't remember. He couldn't recall how he got here, how he was overpowered, or anyone that was creepy enough to make him a little more cautious. How could he have been so stupid? If this person doesn't kill him, his father and Dean sure will.

~WTPDF, Ch.1~

Dean has began to walk out the door just as John was trying to walk in. They bumped, took two steps back and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before John finally said, "Going somewhere?" with a slight smile.

Subconsciously, Dean scratched the side of his head, craning his neck in a circle. The look in his eyes was something John hadn't seen before and it changed his mood completely.

"Dean?"

"I-I'm just...taking a walk."

He brushed past John in the doorway, bumping shoulders with him, but before he could take another step John grabbed his arm. Dean turned back around, sighing slightly. He kept his gaze on the ground, looking at his boots as they kicked a stray rock into the motel parking lot.

"To where?" John asked. He didn't like Dean's body language. Something was worrying him, which only made John begin to worry even if he wasn't sure why.

Dean's eyebrows raise a little as he says, "Sam school."

Now John started to worry.

"What happened?" he glances down at the watch on his wrist. "It's almost six o'clock. School's over. He..._"_

"Should have been home by now," Dean finishes. "I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe he's gotta make up a test, or stay after for something that slipped my mind but..I don't know."

Sam's sixteen now, just turned it about two weeks ago, and with that he hinted that he should be trusted more. 'I can handle myself' were his exact words. And even though John and Dean hadn't answered him verbally, they sort of let on that they'd give him a little more leeway. But none of that was going to stop them from worrying. Sam was still Dean's little brother and he was still John's son, and that was the only reason they needed to go barging in to wherever they wanted if it was in attempt to keep Sam safe.

John pulled the door shut to the motel, turned the key, and locked it.

"I'll go with you," was all he said.

~WTPDF, Ch.1~

Being alone in the dark, the silence, and nothing but the swooshing sound made Sam fall asleep. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but when he woke back up, he felt even worse than he did before. He felt sick. Literally sick to his stomach. His head hurt. This time, he was more alert. Just a little more aware. His heart rate was up, so was his blood pressure. The room had a slight spin on it, making his head sure even more. The numbness to the side of his head was suddenly apparent and the blood dripping from whatever would he had there was something he'd noticed, too. But knowing it was there only allowed the pain to register in his slowly awakening brain. He groaned, but it came out like he was speaking into a pillow. The gag in his mouth smothering any sound made from him.

Footsteps.

Heavy, elephant- like footsteps were what stopped Sam from all movement. Someone was here. They sounded like they were coming down steps. Sam figured he was in a basement or some sort or at least on a lower level of a warehouse or...something. It was hard to try to come to conclusions when you don't remember anything and two of your five senses are missing.

The feet of the person had stopped moving and Sam could feel his presence hovering over him in a creepy fashion.

"Are you awake yet? It's been hours kid."

It was a man. This person was definitely a man. The voice was deep...rugged. Sam breathed in deeply, but he only got the harsh smell of the man. He'd cough if the gag wasn't preventing it.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence-stillness. Sam has just began to think he'd went anyway when a heaviest and hardest of kicks were delivered to his stomach. Two hard kicks that sent angry pain through his abdomen. He would have cried out if he could, but instead he made this noise that would remind you of a puppy. It was a whimper, really. Or maybe more of a squeal. The pain from it clouded Sam's eyes with tears that ran freely down his cheeks and got caught on the gag before it could hit the mattress.

"I _said _wake up."

The anguish sent Sam into a mini-coughing fit, which only made him suck in more of the mucky air, which only resulted in him coughing more. He could hear the man giggle a deep, bone chilling giggle as he watched Sam on the ground struggle to control not only the pain but his breathing. His forceful hands came and _yanked _the gag from Sam's mouth. Sam could feel it as it snagged his tongue on his bottom tooth and the blood as it collected in his mouth. The way it was pulled form his, he was sure would leave something like rope burns on his cheeks. As soon as it was out of his mouth, Sam gasped in the dry air. He needed to. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Again, the man let out a little bit of a laugh. He leaned over, gripped Sam by his shoulder and sat him up. Sam could feel as the man got closer. So close he could feel his breathing. Sam's first instinct was to move away. He couldn't see, so telling just how far his capture actually was was hard, so he pushed his head back trying to create some space, but it only came in contact with the brick wall behind him. It was like firecrackers went off in his head. Sam cringed at the pain.

Before he had a chance for it to register in his head, the man was tapping his thighs, looking for something. When he felt it in Sam's right pocket, he dug his hand in and reached for it. Sam jumped, not wanted this man's hands on him.

"What're you-"

That's when Sam felt his cell phone being slipped out of his pocket.

"Bingo," came the deep voice again. Sam swallowed hard, but the back of his throat was dry like sandpaper. A second later he felt the man sit next to him on the bed, his weight leaning Sam to one side. He could just barely hear the button on his phone being pushed. Then the phone was pressed to Sam's ear.

The man cleared his throat before whispering in a chilling tone, "Say hello to daddy..."

The phone rang once...twice...three times...fou-

"Sam?" came his father's voice.

Sam was quiet for a minute, trying to gather himself. He wasn't even sure he could talk because his throat felt so rough. He tried anyway.

"Dad..." his voice was weak, he barely recognized it. His voice was shaky. He didn't know if it was from nerves, his heart racing, the gag, or from being quiet for so long.

"Sammy where the hell are you? We were worried sick. We-"

"Dad, help me..."

John's mood change could be felt through the phone. His voice went from being slightly annoyed to full protective father/trained hunter mode. He spoke, "Sam where are you?"

The phone was ripped from Sam's ear, and when he didn't answer immediately, John could be heard calling his name several times.

The man clears his throat. "John," he says heavily.

John gulps, hearing the unfamiliar voice . He grips the phone tighter. "Who the hell are you? Where's my son?"

"I'm sorry, what?"Sam's capture says with fake, teasing confusion.

"I know you hear me, you bastard," John scolds. "Where's my son?"

On the other end, the man laughs.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"You," the man answers.

John didn't have time for this. He bit the inside of his lip. "What do you want?"

The man smiles, looking back at Sam half-conscious on the mattress. He runs a hand through his too-oily hair.

"Do you want to play a game, John Winchester?"

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><p>So, what do you think? Please let me know.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: _A big thanks to all that reviewed last chapter. It's really appreciated. Honestly, feedback is always the best, especially when I do a story like this. So thank you so much and please continue to tell me what you think.

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><p>Chapter Two: Game Rules.<p>

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><p>The man did all but go into hysterics at John's expense. Slowly he paced the floor just a few inches from the bed Sam was on. Every once in a while he'd sneak a peek at the teen, but it was nothing more than to remind himself of how great of a grand prize he had on his hands. The worry in John's voice intertwined and smothered in anger is what caused the man to smile the most. Here's John Winchester: big time hunter, perpetually angry, most dangerous and most sneaky thing since 007, highly feared, a total legend in itself- but the man knew no matter how angry John got, no matter how much power he claimed to have, it was <em>him <em>that had the upper-hand here. _He _was the jury on whether Sammy-boy here lives or dies. And he knew that if John was anything like the wonderful father he'd love to be, he wouldn't risk his son's life.

"What?" came the hunter's hardened voice.

The man rolled his eyes. "A game, Johnny. I want to play a game."

John gripped the phone tighter, trying to keep hold of his emotions as they ran through his veins. He had to be smart. John couldn't let his fatherly worries overpower his hunting instincts. Dean took a step closer, completely clueless at the moment. His eyes were slightly enlarged as he watched his father swallow painfully and find his voice again. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

"You have my son. This is no game," he replies as calmly as possible at the moment. On the other end his heard the man chuckle again. He says something under his breath and there's some movement. John bit his tongue slightly, when his mind began to wonder about what has happening to Sam at that exact moment. He shook his head slightly, trying to keep it focused as he impatiently waited for the mystery man to reply.

On the other end there was nothing but small breathing for a about fifteen seconds. John, in his head, was already trying to figure out why this was happening. Was this because of him? God knows there's a line full of people who would like nothing better than to pull his strings like a puppet and watch him dance. Random hunter's names ran across his mind, but still, none of this seemed right.

"You still there?" John asked, voice firm. It's been quiet for too long and the silence was eating at him. John could feel Dean's stare burning a hole in the side of his face. They both seemed to breathe in unison, upbeat, slightly accelerated. John cleared his throat. "Hey!" he yelled into the receiver when there was no immediate answer.

"You do want him back, don't you?" came the voice out of no where. John could just _hear _the joy he was getting out of his. Laughter just in the undertone of his question. John could see him: smirking at their expense, planning God knows what for Sam...

Licking his lips, John shook his head. "Don't be stupid. Of course I want him back. I want him back alive and unharmed."

There was a dead silence on the phone for a matter of seconds. "Alive _and_ unharmed?" the man asked. "Johnny, you're asking for too much."

"Listen to me you son of a bitch. I swear if you even touch _one hair _on his head, I'll personally skin you alive and I'll-"

"You're gonna have to find me first, hot stuff," the voice cut in. His voice was deep and menacing. The kind that you'd hear on the end of some cheap horror movie trying to scare the shit out of on-edge teenagers at a late-night showing. But this was no movie. This was all too real in fact.

Dean gripped John's shoulder and when they were facing each other, Dean's eyes screamed "tell me something, _anything_", but John was a little preoccupied to give hints right now. Dean would have to wait although it was clear that it was killing him not knowing what's going on. All he can tell is that someone had taken Sam. This can't possibly end well.

"...there are rules to be followed?" the voice asked in a slow tone. His patience was wearing thin with John.

John rolled his eyes. Of course there's rules. He didn't say anything, he simply waited for him to continue.

"No cops, but you knew that already didn't you? No calls for more than fifteen seconds. Wouldn't want you tracking my call, would I? No, that wouldn't be much fun. You get one clue every one to three days-"

"One to three?"John cut in. He didn't have time for this. He just didn't. "Listen, I don't know who you think you are but this is just about the farthest thing from a game, you sick fuck. If you're not gonna give me back Sam willingly, fine. But I'm coming for him-"

The man cut him off. "Put away your ego for a second Johnny and listen because I have no problem with slitting his throat right here if you keep mouthing off like this to me. This is _my _game. _My _rules. _My _schedule. And I'll do what _I _want. Understand?"

John chewed back his anger and his urge to slam the phone shut and go out guns blazing to find Sam, but no. He couldn't. This man, whoever he was, was clearly off mentally. And until John and Dean get a decent lead, Sam's stuck with him. And the last thing John wanted to do was put him on edge and take it out on Sam.

Reluctantly, John said softly, "Fine. We'll play."

A heavy laugh came from the other end. "Excellent, Johnny. Excellent. Your time starts now."

...then the line went dead. Nothing else was said. John pulled the phone away and looked at it as if it'd magically contain some kind of answer.

Dean cleared his throat. "Dad what happened? Where's Sam?"

~WTPDF, Ch.2~

"Aw what's'a'matter, Sammy? You're quiet."

Sam pressed his lips together. He could still feel the sting on either sides of his mouth from where the gag was pulled out recklessly. Thick, warm blood pooled just under his tongue. He spit it on what he was almost sure was just near the side of the bed, but he couldn't be sure. The man's voice swirled in his mind as he tried to make himself remember every bit about him. Getting to know him could only help.

The air was thick. Sam could feel the man staring at him, waiting for him to answer.

He didn't.

The man slammed the phone shut, anger written across his face for a minute. He looked around the room and found a sheet of paper. Quickly, he scribbled down John's number from Sam's phone and stuffed it in his jean pocket. After, he slammed the phone down on the ground watching it break into pieces. Sam flinched at the sudden sound. Instinctively, his head swung in the direction of the phone breaking. The man nodded to himself as he watched the little bits of the cell phone. He knew how easily John could track Sam's phone and he couldn't take that chance. The game wouldn't be half as fun if John already knew where they were at, would it?

"I didn't take that off your mouth for you to keep your mouth shut," the man spat. His voice was a little on the angry side. Sam didn't see why though. Most people liked to keep their hostages as quiet as possible. This guy, was the total opposite. But the last thing Sam wanted was a full conversation with his sicko.

Sam tugged at the handcuffs around his wrists. They were tight, but he might be able to get out of them in a matter of time. He slimmed his hand as much as he could and trying to make his thumb straight. He pulled again. The only thing he felt was the pressure increase around his wrist. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stay discrete as possible, while still using the right about of strength to work free.

"Stop that," Sam's captor stated flatly. "Or I'll be forced to hogtie you. I don't think you want that."

Sam's hands slowed to a stop.

There was nothing but silence for about a minute. Sam could feel his heart pick up speed. Not from being frightened, but anticipating what was happening or where he was. The blindfold was a killer. He'd much rather not be able to talk then see.

"You should untie me. Now."

The man laughed. Sam didn't.

"Just be happy you're alive Sammy-boy. You're simply collateral." The man's eyebrow raised. "_Important_ collateral," he stressed. "But still just collateral nonetheless. You don't get to make demands."

Sam would've rolled his eyes if they weren't being held shut by the blindfold.

Slightly away from him, Sam heard the man rummaging though what sounded like a drawer or something. He heard his captor let out a satisfied laugh.

"You said you wanted to play a game with my dad," Sam began. His voice was soft and slow. This man was crazy, so staying calm was going to be key. "What kind of game?"

Without warning the man gripped Sam's arm. Sam pulled away but it didn't do much.

"You don't get to ask questions either," he growled just as he jammed the needle he held in his hand into Sam's forearm. The needle came so quick and with so much force it drew blood. Sam didn't cry out. He wouldn't allow himself to. Screamed internally? Yes. But nothing that the man could hear.

Sam wanted to punch him, but the handcuffs didn't allow that. He wanted to kick him, this the chains around his feet didn't let him. So he used what he could: his head. Sam headbutted the man as hard as he could without hurting himself too much in the process.

The man stumbled back, dropping the needle in the process. Sam took the chance. He pushed himself off the bed. No, he couldn't walk or run, but he could jump. So that's what he did. But he only got about half way until he got dizzy. Even with eyes shut, seeing nothing but pitch black, he could feel the earth turning in ways that it shouldn't. A second later, he couldn't hold himself up anymore. He just felt...weak. And soon, he couldn't stand anymore. A second later, he couldn't stay awake.

His body fell to the dirty ground of the room he was in. Sam's captor rubbed his head as he made his way to Sam on the ground. He leaned over and fixed his thick hands around Sam's shoulders and just under his thighs. He carried him back to the bed.

"That wasn't very smart of you was it, Sammy?"

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><p>So I hoped you enjoyed it and are interested in the chapters to come. Let me know what you think?<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

_AN_: Thanks for all the reviews and support and ideas, predictions, thoughts, feelings and everything you've written to me. It's really appreciated. Please continue to do so. Your feedback only helps with my thought process which might result in quicker updates if I have all my thoughts together. So thank you all.

_Warning: _This could get dark. Most likely will. I wrote this back in chapter one, but it's good to always keep that in mind.

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><p>Chapter Three: Do Unto Others...<p>

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><p>It took only mere seconds for the sedatives to set in and force Sam completely still, nothing but his upper chest moving up and down slowly. The man had a loose grip on him and had dropped him recklessly onto his back. Sam didn't make a sound. In his pocket, the man thumbed over the piece of paper at a quick pace as he tapped his foot simultaneously. Then he stopped and tapped the side of his head where the blood ran freely. It burned to the touch. He winced.<p>

The man glared down at Sam and he felt this anger shoot up from his feet through his whole body. Anger that popped out of no where but full fledged with a reason. He looked down at his hand, the blood staining the tips of his fingers. The man growled. With his bloody hand supporting himself, he leaned over Sam; and with his clean hand he backhanded Sam, deepening the bruise that was already forming. The slap had left two thin scratches on the kid's cheek. And even though Sam's mouth opened reflexively from the pressure of the hand and the velocity it was going at, he didn't wake. Not even a little.

Walking leisurely, the man went into the top drawer of the beaten desk and got out the black bandana again. He whipped it a few times, shaking his head in the direction of Sam. "I tried to be nice…" he says, his lips pursed out just a little. He approached Sam's restful form again. He lifted Sam's head with one hand and slipped the bandana around his mouth with the other. With his thumb, he pushed downward just under Sam's mouth to part his lips and allow the bandana to go deep enough to keep his tongue from moving. Once it felt it was good enough, he tied the bandana at the back of his head.

"Duct tape, duct tape…" he mumbled to no one. Again he tapped his head and it resulted in the same thing: pain, stinging, blood. He growled a deep bellowing growl as the man went back to the desk. Rummaging through the top drawer again, he didn't find what he was looking for, so he moved on to the third since he kept the second padlocked. Finally he found the duct tape and he twirled it around his index finger a few times. "Gotta keep your ass quiet, right Sammy? Never know who's listening."

He rested his knees on the edge of the bed and he lifted Sam and rested the boy's back on his knees. The man unraveled the duct tape and wrapped it once - twice - three times around Sam's head, covering his mouth. The man grinned as he lifted himself up and watch Sam's body fall back onto the mattress.

Just as he turned around, the man spotted the Polaroid camera on the small end-table by the foot of the mattress Sam was on. It was like a light clicked on inside of the man's head. He snapped his fingers and tossed the tape somewhere near the desk.

"Wouldn't want daddy to worry would we?" he asks sickeningly. With the camera in hand, he hovers over Sam, trying to find just the right angle. He knew John- well he knew _of_ him - and if he was anything like the legend people talked him up to be, he'd be able to find his son with the slightest of clues. So sending a picture had to be pure tactical. He'd need Sam in it, of course, but not too much of the room. No telling what might give the Great Almighty Winchester a clue, right?

The man pressed the button and the old-time camera flashed twice. It brightened Sam's face. He noticed how the sudden bright light illuminated Sam's face and the bruising that were on it, giving it a deepened purple color. The man laughed. John's gonna love that, right?

"Alive and unharmed," the man repeated in a stone like voice as he recalled the father's demands. A second passed and the man broke out in smile. He shrugged just as the picture slid out of the camera's exit and into his over-eager hand. "… at least he's alive, Johnny. For now."

~WTPDF, Ch. 3~

The flashing light was the first thing that broke into Sam's dreamless sanctuary, and had to admit it was pretty damn peaceful. It was a flicker, barely a spark, but it registered in his mind. It had traveled through the blindfold somehow, past his closed eye lids, too and connected with something deep inside of him, for it was he noticed first. But maybe it wasn't the flash at all? Maybe it was the sound he was hearing? It was a fluttering sound. Sam wasn't sure where it was coming from. For a couple of moments it was pitch black again and dead silent, but then there it was again - and again. Sam stirred. Or, at least he thought he moved. He felt like he didn't have full control of his body. Like he was somewhere else, trying to will his brain to work properly. Or maybe a different person altogether trying to mentally will himself to sit up or move an arm or _something_.

The flash again.

Sam moved. He thought he moved. His body, that is. His mind was taking longer to getting back to working properly. Little by little, he was able to focus a little more on waking up fully. He breathed in deeply, but his mouth was restricted. His eyes were too. So he settled for taking in the mucky air in through his nose. He could feel his tight chest expanding greatly. It stung. It felt like he'd been choking. His throat hurt, too. But he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. Not yet. Sam took in another breath. Each time it hurt a little less. Actually, it felt good. He tried to move his feet or even his hands, but he couldn't tell if it was working. He still felt disconnected from the rest of his body. He was beginning to get worried, but he couldn't even bring himself to panic. All his emotion- just like his energy, was drained. But then he mind clicked and he remembered: kidnapped. Blindfolded. Handcuffed. Gagged - for the second time. Kept here by psycho.

More rapidly now, the flashes flicked. Was someone taking pictures of him?

Slowly- bit by bit, Sam became in more control of his body. He could feel that he was lying on something... It was sort of soft, but was uncomfortable. The smell that roamed around him was near nauseating. It was rank. It was like mold, sour milk, poor pluming, and bad body order all at the same time. It was sickening. His head felt heavy. Like it weighed a ton and a half. His neck was stiff and sore. How long was he in that position? He groaned, but it didn't come out at a groan. It was more of a weak sigh.

There was a tapping in the distance, but it could have been footsteps. Then there was a strong hand on Sam's shoulder that rolled him unwillingly and unexpectedly onto his back.

"You're awake?" the voice said with a kind of anger and a hint of surprise in it. Sam wondered how long he'd been out, when the gag was put back in his mouth, and if the man had talked to his father again. But he couldn't let himself dwell on the things he didn't know. He needed to focus. The man cleared his throat and Sam felt the hand grip him hard enough to make him wince.

Sam nodded the best he could with his neck and shoulders as stiff and sore as they were.

A moment later Sam was being lifted again into a sitting position. For the first time the blindfold came off. Sam almost immediately shut his eyes again, the bright light like fire to him. He hadn't seen light in... well who knows how long. Sam dropped his shoulder and tried to look back at the man but he kept them straight. He felt him lean too close. Sam tilted his head away slightly not liking how close he was.

"Now I'm gonna take this off your mouth okay but if you cause any trouble I'll be forced to shut up up again. Clear?"

Sam didn't answer. But the man took it was a 'yes' as he began to take the tape off his mouth. The last part was hardest, Sam could feel the pull getting stronger as the sticky side had began to set onto his lips. The man wasn't gentle, not that Sam had expected him to be. He ripped the tape off his mouth is one quick motion taking a layer of skin with it. His mouth watered and his lip lip dripped small drops of blood. Sam didn't cry out though. It took all he had to stay silent. His chest sank in and his cheeks puffed up, however. The man smirked. Sam was a tough kid, he'd give him that. And no matter what last name he had, who his father and brother was, or how well he'd been trained, he was still a kid. And kids could be broken. The man knew that.

He eyed Sam slowly, blinking every once in a while. Sam broke the eye contact, feeling uncomfortable with the way he's being looked at. The man cleared his throat, licking his lips.

Finding his voice, Sam tried , "Who the hell are you?"

The man's eyebrows arched. He pointed to himself. "Me? Well...let's just say I'm the only person who can possibly tell your family where you are. I'm like the winning lottery ticket."

Sam swallowed.

"You name... what's your name?"

The man had long greasy hair that passed his shoulders. Dean always told Sam his hair was too long, wait till he caught sight of this bastard. He was actually much bigger than Sam had pictured him. The man's shoulders were broad and everything about him was just - _big_. But his face and his tone of voice sometimes put him younger than Sam at heart, but other times his voice would get so powerful and so deep that made Sam think he'd be a great drill master or something. Especially when he was angry with Sam or taunting his Dad... it was like this man was living through two personalities. Honestly, he probably was. And if he was, it wouldn't surprise Sam at all. His mood swings were worse than a pregnant woman.

"You can call me Paul."

"Paul, where are we?" Sam asked, trying to stay as calm as he possibly could. His eyes darted around the room trying to look for something significant that might give Sam a clue was to where he was, if he'd been taken far, or anything. But from his quick glance he got nothing. Nothing but dirty walls that surrounded an even dirtier floor that was under broken furniture and the horrendously smelling mattress Sam was on.

Paul laughed. He shook his head. "Can't say. It wouldn't be fun if I told you."

Sam was confused. "Fun? What woul-"

"The game. The game wouldn't be fun."

Sam was quiet. For a moment he had actually forgot. This thing was all a game to him. Yeah, this man was sick.

Paul got up and went over to the video camera and pressed a button. Sam squinted, slightly shocked and slightly confused. How did he not notice it there immediately after the blindfold was taken off? Almost instantly, a red light flashed right in Sam's face. He looked away. Paul smiled as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked back at Sam again. He looked at him in a way that made Sam's skin crawl. Taking in a short breath, Sam did all he could not to flinch.

"You know," Paul started, he had his voice deep. He was upset. "I'm not a big fan of your father's."

Just like that, a light went off in Sam's head. His father. He's gotta be looking for him by now. Some way, some how he's going to find him.

"My dad's gonna find you...," Sam says with nothing but hate and fearlessness in his eyes. Sam challenged the man with his eyes. Sure he was still handcuffed and shackled, but he couldn't let that make him look weak.

Paul smiled a little. "You better hope he finds me. See, if he finds me, he finds you."

Sam swallowed hard.

"You better make sure you've got a damn good hiding place. My dad and my brother will hunt you down like the animal you are-"

Like a cheetah, the man jumped up. A hard backhand came across Sam's face, stinging his mouth and his cheek. He looked away as tears filled his eyes. As quickly as he could, he blinked them away. He was _not _going to cry.

"I'm not an animal. Do you understand me? I'm _not_," Paul barks at Sam. His voice was hardened as well as his eyes. He breathed heavily as he looked over at Sam angrily.

Sam breathed heavy, too. "My dad will hunt you down," he repeats, fearlessly. He didn't care what it was going to cost him. He didn't care how many times Paul would hit him, Sam wasn't going down without a fight. Even if his side of the fight was restricted to verbal. His father did always tell him he had a smart mouth.

Paul face softened and he rubbed the side of his face like he'd taken the hit instead of Sam.

"How do you even know he cares enough to came look for you? I seen you were upset earlier before I found you. I bet you it had something to do with him..."

Sam looked away. He thought back to when he had left school. Was he upset about something? Sam couldn't remember. Nothing in his memory was clear right now.

Paul reached out and touched Sam's face, just under his eye. Sam flinched, jerking away.

"Don't fucking touch me-"

Paul pulled his hand back but he kept his glare on Sam.

"They'll kill you if you hurt me."

The man sucked his teeth.

"Hurt you?"

He cupped the side of Sam's face and shook his head. "I won't hurt you unless I have to, Sammy. See all of that?" He thumbed over Sam's bruising on his cheek, then his bottom lip. "All of this is your fault."

Sam shrugged off his hand and tried to keep him at least arm length away, his eyes widening at the man's unknown intensions.

"Get your filthy hands off me."

Paul looked at him, clearly upset from being rejected like that.

"You know what?" Paul said deeply, standing. His hand swere clenched into fists at his sides. Sam swallowed hard. "You just keep giving me reasons to do this. You're gonna regret that. You're gonna regret disrespecting me..."


End file.
